THE punky Carpenter all grime
          Just loves to sharpen tools.
He loiters, wasting half the time,
          Yet keeps within his rules.
The Union says it's quite the thing
To be one sneaking thief, and wring
          The lion's share, yes, all,
From we poor slobs who pay the bill.
The Carpenter has got his fill,
          Enlargement of the gall.

Let Raphael his harp inter,
          And Gabriel his trumpet.
To-day the punky Carpenter,
          While munching at his crumpet
Says to himself, "I'll file the saw,"
Wasting an hour, but his law
          With tommyrot doth twinkle.
We pay him while he steals an hour
And if we kick, Hell! ain't he sour,
          This is the proper wrinkle.

The dapper nightingale across
          The river pipes a tune.
The Zephyr turns the wooden horse,
          That weather vane. 'Tis June.
The Carpenter now wipes his brow,
His tools are all in order now.
          We pay while that poltroon
Sharpens away full half a day.
We are the victims, we must pay,
          That shirking, mean buffoon.

The Carpenter is quite a dandy,
          Gerrymander gay.
Many a time he slings the bandy,
          Stuffing a County jay.
The Gerrymander higgles as
He grabs the gun. He giggles as
          He leaps the garden wall,
Knowing kind fortune, with a sway
Passing the tray, chucks luck his way
          Enlargement of the gall.

The Carpenter from Abbington
          Decided that he'd climb
The summit of Mount Skabbington
          The height was not sublime.
He hurries on, he does not slack
His gait, he is a steeple Jack
          Whose courage cannot pall.
You must not think this tale all myth.
The Carpenter is troubled with
          Enlargement of the gall.

The Carpenter from Abbington,
          All itching to entrain
And climb the hill of Skabbington,
          Meanders down the lane.
The punky Carpenter now blew
Through ragged teeth of saffron hue,
          Whistling sounds of pain.
Although the punker knew it not,
There was a gruesome counter plot
          'Forging his mortal chain.

Enlargement of the Gall, I fear,
          Gives the Mechanic string,
Drawing him on with steadfast gear.
          He listens, ah! bang, bing!
That crashing in the bushes, Oh!
That rumbling above, below.
          The donkey Steeple Jack
Sees hallowed in a grove of quince
That mighty Himalaya Prince
          The melancholy Yak.

The floating gosling swimming by
          Squirmingly, languid, slack,
Opens his mouth, heaving a sigh
          And lispeth one faint quack.
The floating gosling skims the pond
Beneath the cataract beyond
          The precipice. The fox
Guardeth the yellow docks. Away
Poor little birdie, do not stay.
          Keep shy of yonder rocks.

Thou rotten Carpenter all punk,
          Why shouldst thou be a jack?
Why art thou such a crawling skunk,
          O'ershadowed by the Yak?
Why dost thou have a punky brain?
Thou givest me one large-sized pain.
          Go get a move on, hock
Thyself, thou punky beast, so dense,
Minus one grain of common sense,
          With eyes upon the clock.

The punky Carpenter begins
          To feel as though a yoke
Of iron rested on his pins.
          He sleeps (the punky bloke).
Yes, that poor, thoughtless Steeple Jack
Sleeps 'neath the cliff from where the Yak
          The sentinel now sweeps
His gaze. Meanwhile, the spinner spins,
Casting the mystic javelins
          Down where the punker sleeps.

Even the breeze has little ease.
          It has no ease at all.
The Yak doth tremble at the knees,
          Yet does not fear the squall
Which rises to a fierce cyclone.
Hark ! hear that moan, that awful groan!
          The Yak is beaten stiff.
The whirlwind, with a clicking clack,
Now catches up the noble Yak,
          Throwing him down the cliff.

The melancholy Yak is tumbling
          Headlong down the cliff,
And hovers o'er the slumbering
          Mechanic. Oh! but if
The Carpenter from Abbington,
Deep in the vale of Skabbington,
          All threatened by the panic
Could only wake in time to slip
Away. Alas! he cannot skip.
          Unfortunate Mechanic!

The Carpenter upon his back
          Most innocently sleeping,
Smiles as he sleepeth, while the Yak
          From crag to crag is leaping.
Around and round the Yak doth turn
Bumping like butter in a churn.
          Oh, what an awful whack!
Yes, the poor beast, with crushing crash,
Smashes the Carpenter one smash,
          Poor Carpenter, poor Yak!

The Carpenter and Yak both now
          Dismember many ways.
The process doth the place endow
          With hearts and livers. Trays
Of entrails, kidneys grace the vale
Of Skabbington with bloody trail.
          But first and over all,
The country side, yea, everywhere,
Doth reek with sticky blood and hair,
          Everything soaked in gall.

The punky Carpenter is thus
          Distributed in thirty
Putrid shares (one nasty muss),
          Promiscuously dirty.
His lights and lungs are scattered, yea,
          All in one muddle cast astray,
Nice puddle fit for swine
          Huddled together full of germs,
Swilling with filthy yellow worms,
          Thou rotten, broken vine!

ENVOY

Shade of that mighty Monarch Saul
          Why fall upon thy knife?
Thou hast enlargement of the gall.
          Why sever mortal life?
Why disregard thy sacred call,
Why be so cowardly, and haul
          Thy banner down? How slack!
How sad that one with swollen gall
Throws up the sponge and takes a fall
          Down like the poor lost Yak.

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